A matter of heart, p.18
A Matter of Heart, page 18
“What . . .” I struggle to put my worries and thoughts together coherently. “What were his rationalizations behind why I’d kill”—I hate that word so much—“my team?”
“Why does anyone of our ilk do anything?” Etienne muses. “Power, naturally.”
This completely throws me off guard. “It’s not like I can collect power! Is that what he thought? That I was, I don’t know, stealing crafts?”
Mac quickly interjects, “I don’t think that’s what he—” at the same time Etienne asks, “Why do killers kill?” And it makes me want to throw my cup at him in frustration.
“As I’ve never killed anyone,” I grind out, “I wouldn’t know.”
“Some do it just because they can,” Alex says flatly. “Or because they like to.”
Okay, I am officially horrified.
“Chloe, you are not being accused of murder.” Mac’s words are firm. “Not by us, not by the Council. Belladonna was stripped of his position for even suggesting it.”
Etienne studies me. “Didn’t Whitecomb talk to you about any of this?”
I look down at my tea, which I have to sip due to my throat being so tight and dry. “He said that . . .” Just what did Jonah say? “That Jens accused me because somebody in his family had been murdered by a Creator.”
Etienne nods slowly. “This is true, plucot. Many families could claim the same.”
“Plucot?” Mac asks in an obvious attempt to lighten the mood.
Etienne is incredulous. “It’s a cross between a plum and an apricot, developed by a Nymph not too long ago. Gods, Maccon. Expand your provincial palate every so often, why don’t you?”
Alex fails at holding his laughter in.
Eventually, Etienne and Alex discuss a project the Elf is helping Alex with for his class. I’m not listening, though; I’m too busy mulling over what I’ve just learned. Mac manages to drag my attention back when he suddenly says, “You do realize what Jonah Whitecomb did for you, though, don’t you, Chloe? How he went to war in front of the entire Council, refusing to let Jens Belladonna’s insane accusations even have a moment of contemplation?”
“A true leader was born that day,” Etienne says, eyes serious and thoughtful as he rejoins our conversation. “People have always thought well of him, but he really showed much maturity and intelligence in his arguments and a natural ability to simply take charge over a volatile situation. His influence over the Council grows exponentially each day. I love how that can happen in Annar. He’s eighteen and, at this moment, wields more influence in sessions than many members who have been seated for seventy, a hundred years.”
“He loves you.” Mac leans forward. “He didn’t even think about the consequences he could’ve faced, insisting that the Council remove the head of the Guard from power. Jens had his fans, that’s for sure. Still does. But Jonah insisted, and he got his way.” He looks away from us, out the window. It’s started to drizzle outside.
The mood in the room shifts, even though Mac tries his best to distance himself from the frustration and sadness of his own situation. “Mac,” I say softly, “you never know, someday . . .”
He laughs under his breath. “Right. Izadorna and I—we’ve got a fairy tale love story going, after all.”
What would he think, knowing that my love story wasn’t as cut and dry as he envied? That the fairy tale everyone sees isn’t exactly true? That Connections aren’t the covetous relationships people believe them to be?
Etienne sets his cup down. “It’s not too late, Mac. You could call it off.”
But we all know he’ll never do it. His family, as rigid as he claims, is also close-knit. To say no to Izadorna would be tantamount to turning his back on his family and culture. He won’t do it, no matter how miserable and disillusioned he is.
And the funny thing is, I get it.
Jens Belladonna is staring at me.
He’s sitting at a café across the street with some of his cronies, including the new bossman, Paavo Battletracker. None of the rest of the Guard are staring at me, just Jens, and it’s done is such a blatant way that heat crawls up my neck and spreads across my cheeks.
“You’d think,” Cora says, sliding the magazine she’d been perusing back into its slot, “he has a crush on you or something by the way he’s staring.”
As Cora has an unhealthy addiction to celebrity gossip, we’ve spent the last ten minutes lingering at this newsstand. “Who?” I ask nonchalantly.
“That guy,” she says, pointing at Jens. Cora never does anything slyly. She’s considers it an affront to her personality to ever act like anything but who she is. “You know. The guy that got his ass handed to him for being a dumbshit.”
Somebody nearby coughs and takes a few steps away. “What?” Cora demands, noticing the elderly Gnome frowning at her. “It’s true, you know.”
The Gnome chooses to leave rather than respond.
Lizzie doesn’t look up from the fashion magazine she’s perusing when she says, “Tact, Cora. It goes a long way, especially in public.”
Cora issues a long-suffering sigh. Lizzie smiles sweetly in return.
“So it’s not just some kind of paranoia?” I ask. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught Jens staring at me. He seems to be everywhere I go lately.
“Nope.” Cora’s gum snaps between her teeth. And then, so loudly that there can be no doubt that he can hear us across the street, “He’s staring, like he’s some kind of perv!”
Lizzie throws her hands up in defeat.
You’d think this outburst would deter him, but it doesn’t. He simply continues to stare at me, like I’m a puzzle or—worse—a madwoman on the verge of snapping and slaughtering the better part of downtown Annar. So when we finally leave, it feels like I’m making a run for it, even though we’re strolling.
My mood is atrocious, thanks in part to yet another headache. “I don’t want to go.”
Cora sighs and puts the dress she’s considering back on the rack. “You have to go. If I have to go, so do you.”
It’s at times like this I’m glad to be around people who aren’t Emotionals. Sometimes, it’s really refreshing to revel in moodiness and not have to worry about it. “I hardly see the logic there.”
“I wish I could go.” Lizzie fingers a purple velvet ball gown. “But Graham’s fraternity is having their annual spring break toga party and I promised I’d go.”
Cora sticks a finger in her mouth and pretends to gag. “Do you hear yourself? A toga party? With a bunch of drunk idiots throwing money at their drinks? Lizzie, promise me right now you aren’t going to wear a sheet.”
Lizzie’s eyes flash hot. “We can’t all wine and dine in the fanciest restaurants in Madrid for our dates.”
These two have been bickering a lot lately, which dismays me. It’s like there’s a constant competition over whose life is better—the one in Annar with the sophisticated boyfriend or the one trying desperately to hold onto some semblance of normalcy on our home plane? I wish Meg was around to even their moods out, but our friend is back in California visiting her parents. I thought once we were all living in Annar, we’d be closer than ever, but it seems like work, classes, and life keep pulling us further apart, be it by centimeters, inches, feet, or miles.
I refuse to let that continue, at least today. “If you two don’t stop, I’m going to get Jonah over here and make you guys literally kiss and make up.”
It’s enough to elicit giggles, sheepish smiles, and the small and murmured kind of apologies only the closest and oldest of friends can give.
Cora pulls another dress off the rack and holds up against her chest. “Chloe, this is one of the biggest parties of the year. Everyone who is anyone in Annar will be there.”
Lizzie looks away, even though she knows she’s invited and welcome.
Neither of them understands my reluctance, which is no surprise, as I can’t find it in me to fill them in on all the details. Too many memories come with the Guard’s annual party. Just last year, I was falling apart over Jonah and doing who knows what with his brother, drunk out of my mind. And now, I’m expected to go with Jonah and smile and laugh and pretend that I didn’t make a giant jackass of myself at the last one.
Cora puts this latest dress back, too. “You never want to hit any of the parties. Or go and do anything nineteen-year-olds do. I swear, you act like you’re ninety.”
“Parties aren’t my thing,” I tell her, and it’s the truth. Thankfully Jonah feels the same way. We’re homebodies, which is how I like it.
Cora huffs and plants her hands on her hips. “Suck it up, girlfriend. You’re coming to this one whether you like it or not.” And then she hands me a red dress, but when she turns her back, I slip it back on the rack.
I won’t ever wear a red dress again.
“Do you think I act like I’m ninety?”
Kellan doesn’t bother looking up at me. We’re at my favorite hot dog stand; he’s putting condiments on his hot dog. Since we started hanging out with one another again a few months back, we make sure we hit up this stand at least once a week. “What does that even mean?”
“I’m not sure,” I admit. “Cora said—”
“That’s your problem right there.” He licks a bit of mustard off his finger. “Stop listening to Cora.”
We settle on a bench that faces a fountain. Annar has the most beautiful parks and squares that sitting inside, on a day like this where the sun is shining but it’s not too hot, feels criminal. I’m almost done with my lunch when he asks, “Not that it bears any merit, but what made Miss Opinion age you so much?”
I try not to giggle, because she is my friend, after all. “She thinks I don’t live life to the fullest.”
He finishes his hot dog and wipes his fingers on a napkin. “And just what aren’t you doing that’s got you practically in the grave?”
I hesitate, because while Kellan and I are back to being close enough to share a lot with one another, there are still topics that aren’t exactly comfortable. And his extracurricular activities are some of those topics.
Sometimes it feels like Kellan lives two lives—the one he shares with Jonah and me and the one he shares with everyone else. It’s disorienting, especially when people innocently report back to me what they’ve seen him do now that no one is afraid to talk to me about him anymore, because I never see those parts of his life.
I worry about him constantly, but I’ve got a trick up my sleeve. I’ve been meeting with Kopano, the Guard’s lead Hider, over the last few weeks. He’s helped me figure out how to shield my emotions with the twins—although, I never explained it that way to him. I pitched the idea as an exercise to protect myself on missions. It’s difficult to do, seems impossible at times, and I’ve failed more often than not. But I figure it’s a matter of survival that I learn how to do this, especially after what happened in Hawaii. It stresses me out, worrying over how Jonah and Kellan react to my emotions. Like now. At this moment, hearing the concern in his voice, inappropriate urges run through me that want him to hold me in his arms so we can kiss for hours, like we used to. And then I’ll go home to Jonah and my love for him will consume me then, too.
It’s not fair. It’s not fair to Jonah. It’s not fair to Kellan, either. It’ll be best if I can keep all of those messed-up feelings to myself.
“A good shield should feel like it has always been with you,” Kopano said just last night. “You only need to wake it up.”
So that’s what I do. I gently ease a shield to mask my emotions, crossing my fingers Kellan doesn’t notice anything out of the ordinary. This is my first time attempting one with him. We’re in a crowded square; there are plenty of distractions for him to focus on if he’s in the mood to emotion hunt. I try feigned amusement to help cover my tracks. “I’m not going out and having the time of my life every single night.”
He’s thoughtful for a moment; there’s no hint that he can feel all that is raging around my heart. “It’s probably a good thing you don’t.” I tilt my head to the side, so he clarifies, “Because then you’d be so tired you’d might as well be ninety.”
I avert my eyes, back over to the hot dog cart. There is a line fifteen deep for those tasty conglomerations of meat. I give into an impulse and ask him something I probably shouldn’t. “What about you? Do you feel ninety?”
“Sometimes I feel like I’m two hundred,” is the answer I get. And I’m glad that my feelings are hidden from him, that I apparently got a shield to work, because the guilt in me flares so brightly it’s a wonder it doesn’t block out the sun.
“Cora’s insisting we go to the Guard party this weekend,” I tell Jonah. The lights are off but the windows are open wide; moonlight spills across the sheets in delicate patterns.
He studies my face for a long moment, tracing parts of it with his index finger. Wave after wave of goose bumps roll over my skin, and I savor them because they’re sublime when they originate from his touch. But I must let too much melancholy show, because he asks, “Want to tell me why that upsets you?”
I scoot up in bed and draw my knees to my chest. I hate talking about this with him, hate reminding either of us about the hell we went through last year. The mistakes we made. This is an anniversary I wish desperately to forget, but can’t. I evade with my response. “I guess Creators are supposed to go?”
He sits up, too. “Well, you’re part of the Guard, too, you know. The only Guard who never come are the ones out on missions at the time of the party.”
That is technically true. Creators are always part of the Guard as well as the Council, but for some reason, I never quite feel like I’m one of them. The Guard have a very insular mentality—us versus them. Yet when I’m at Guard HQ, it’s like I’m one of them, never one of us. It’s not from lack of trying on behalf of a number of my Guard friends, though; Karl, Zthane, Kia, and company do their best to include me. But . . . it’s awkward. Too many of these people know that I pretty much rejected Jonah for several months to date his brother. And for all the love I hold for Kellan, it’s something I regret immensely. The pain I caused Jonah, the wedge between the twins I helped create—those are things I wish I could erase.
But I can’t. For all I can destroy, I can’t undo time.
“I guess,” I tell him. My chin drops to my knees.
He’s quiet for a long moment. “Kellan will be there.”
Although he sounds okay with this, I know he still struggles with me and his brother spending time together. I catch these fleeting looks of anguish and frustration every so often when the three of us are together, or when I leave to hang out solo with Kellan. So I wrap another shield around me, one to hide the sadness. And it does make me sad, needing to hide my feelings from both of these men, but I don’t know what else to do. Their pain, in addition to my own, is often too much to bear.
Already, I’m wondering if I’ll be able to control how I’m feeling about the two of them, if I’ll be able to contain the pulls of my unbreakable Connections. I chose Jonah, not Kellan. Anything I feel towards Kellan has to be put away; it’s too dangerous not to be.
I reach out and take his hand. “He and I had hot dogs today.”
Jonah shudders, and I laugh. Poor boy, being forever denied the joy of a simple hot dog. I crawl into his lap and shove my head under his chin, against the spot where his neck meets his shoulder. I like this spot. It feels like that when Jonah was made, my measurements were taken into consideration, because my head fits perfectly there.
“I love you,” I tell him. There is no need to shield these feelings. I don’t even think I could if I tried.
“Once upon a time, I thought riding in those things would be glamorous and exciting.” I have to shield my eyes from the dust kicking up as Raul lifts the helicopter back into the sky. “I think I’m past that now.”
Karl laughs, deep and rumbly, as he hands me my backpack. “They’re good for quick travel.”
“Pragmatist,” I accuse, but I’m chuckling, too, despite the reason we’re on our current mission. We’re in Manali, India, a small town at the base of the Himalayas. Year-by-year, the Asian country is shrinking underneath the mountain range thanks to the help of shifting tectonic plates and Creators.
When I was first told I’d be responsible for reducing the country by two centimeters a year, I balked, but Intellectuals from all the planes slapped studies in front of me, highlighting how this isn’t an uncommon occurrence anywhere and it’s a crucial part of the constant evolution of geography. Then I learned it wasn’t only India that I’d do this to, but numerous countries and continents on all the planes, and for my effects (and those of Creators before and after me) to show, it’ll take millions of years.
Still, it’s a sobering thought, making a ginormous country smaller, even if by such tiny increments.
“Last year,” Karl tells me, slinging his bag over his shoulders, “Rushfire insisted on being carried in a tricked out backpack he made. It might’ve had a bed and bar in it.” His grin fills his face. “I’d like to thank you for walking on your own two feet.”
I sidestep a group of kids chasing a ball down the street. “You say this like you were the one carrying him around. You were babysitting me, remember?”
“Changing your diapers were the worst.”
I swat at him, and he breaks into laughter again.
I’m glad it’s just us on this mission—well, Raul, too, but he’s working double time, ferrying another Guard about a hundred miles south. I miss Karl. I see him during Council and Guard meetings, and Jonah and I go over to the Graystone house for dinner at least once a week, but I don’t get to hang out with him like we used to. But it makes sense. He and Moira have Emily and their attention outside of work revolves around her, like it should, since she’s the best kid in all the worlds.
I might’ve been accused of spoiling her with toys and dresses that I whip up, but I can’t resist her smile. Toddler smiles are visual hugs, and worth whatever it takes to elicit them.
We hike for about an hour; my breath is shallow, thanks to the altitude, but it’s a good tired. During our walk, I ply him with questions, just like old times. “This earthquake you’re going to set off today—”
